Ask her if anything you do makes her feel better.

You’re in an abandoned house. Words from the internet are pressing their way through the walls and creaking through the air. You can feel your very being being reported to an omnipresent yet invisible greater moderator. You are not welcome here.And you stumble up and down the floors.

“downbear”

“downbear”

“this is racist: reported”

You see the back half of a pig phasing through one of the upper corners of the 5th floor stairwell. It’s screaming and it has shit all over itself. You lift tour hands as you run under it.

The worst happens. You can feel the eyes of the greater mod upon you. Your body is pulled downward as if tethers are ripping you down. Your face is slammed against the stairs. Your torso and limbs are slammed against and eventually pilled through the stairs too. It hurts so much. If tou could move your hands and feel your face you’re sure you’d find your mouth has disappeared.

You’re dragged through a high number of floors you couldn’t possibly number because of the pain. Floor after floor of being reverse-dredged into a blacker and blacker, mold-ridden hell.

You’ve ben censored. You’re in a dungeon deep underneath those floors and stairs you mounted prior. You can hear a voice that is not a voice, and a sight that is not a sight writhe along the ceiling. It says “reactionary.” You try to counter it but you can’t.

You’re told to face the wall. You can’t resist the forces that have complete control of your body. You’re trapped. You look around to see an almost infinite fractal of repeating corners and in each corner is another censored being. All of them were told to face the wall and corner. You can hear them attempting to scream without control of their tongues and without the ability to turn their heads, the shrieks are muffled and vibrating into the cellar-like prison walls they’re pressed against.

Just before you lose consciousness you hear someone shout your name from above. You think maybe someone will save you from this torture. But as the voices echoes downward. Down the crumbling stairs and into the horror-pit you’re encased into like a bone pressed into its socket you hear it rebound. It says “ha owned. get banned butch.”

The ultimate moderator is behind you. They let out a witch’s cackle and you remember nothing and experience nothing agains after that.

I don’t know but I want it added to the slur filter.

There was a Sega CD port of SMT, which is kinda’ close.

Saw a guy just casually walking down the street with leg fetters on. No idea what was up with that. Went by too fast to see if they were heavy enough to affect his stride or not.

Also saw some people holding signs saying free hugs and also noticed they weren’t wearing shoes despite standing on probably hot concrete sidewalks.

Still waiting for the promised sorting option of “saddest” posts in here.

It means someone paid a Hexbear admin $5 to triple-downvote you.

You weren’t supposed to actually take Phil Greaves seriously.

Workshop this. You’re close.

Say “no thank you”.

Drunk drivers are the anti-maskers of the road.

I think it’s more so that “bear sex” was just joke-worthy enough that people talked about the game that otherwise wouldn’t talk about it and news of the game spread beyond its usual corners of the internet. So more people heard of the game and I guess the openness that “bear sex” entails is pretty appealing for a CRPG.

I bet she did leave the stickers on in her final years.

Is this the one that was getting hate crimed against in west Ukraine and then blamed it on Russians somehow? And was doing some kind of weird false flag operations as part of the Nevada Republican party?